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“Ahh, okay…well, meet me at Wagamama?”

“What? A few blocks away?

“Yep. My last delivery was nearby.”

“Why do you need sandwiches if you’re eating noodles?”

“I’ll save them for dinner. Please? Come meet me now!”

“’Kay, be there in five.”

• • •

Pulling open the door to Wagamama, Ben’s favorite restaurant chain from London, Riley walked into a wall of noise: laughter, clinking cutlery, and John Legend crooning somewhere through the speakers. A cluster of hungry diners waited ahead of her, perusing menus and checking their phones. She glanced past them, spotting Ben wearing his Duran Duran t-shirt, waving her toward a teak booth beside the window. Who’s he with? Someone in a ball cap and a woman with a long blonde ponytail sat across from him.

“Riles!” Ben climbed out of the booth. “I want you to meet some friends.”

She turned—and her heart froze. Whaaaa…is it…?

The chaotic lunchtime noise, the dim light, yummy smells—everything except the male sitting in front of her, got sucked up into a massive black hole of unimportance.

IT IS! OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod!

Riley’s stomach dropped in the most spectacular, giddy freefall. She stared, mouth agape, her lungs paralyzed, all ability to form words gone.

Ben chuckled, removing the tub of sandwiches from her arms. “Riley, meet Mark and Alex!”

Mark Keegan. Keegs. Your fave actor…he’s real. He’s HERE!

Grinning from ear to ear, Mark Keegan was almost unrecognizable, his pitch-black hair, long and shaggy, barely contained under his ball cap. Sunburn tinged the tip of his pale Irish nose and he was wearing navy knee-length shorts with a baggy New York Yankees t-shirt that hid his toned chest.

“Hey, Riley.”

That Irish accent!

Mark stood up and kissed her on each cheek. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” He gave her a soft bear hug, her nose buried in his neck.

He smells ah-may-zing! What is it about Irish and British guys and their…oh! Crap! My hair’s in his face! ARGH! The ONE day I don’t shampoo…

Mark pulled back, gifting Riley the full impact of his brown puppy dog eyes. Holy crap! He’s even more gorgeous in person! And…shorter? Shorter than Ben. “Hi…it’s nice to meet you.”

Mark motioned to the pretty blonde in a blue sleeveless shirtdress. “This is my girlfriend, Alex. She’s from Florida…”

“I know!” Shit. Great—now I sound like a total stalker. Alex will know you read online gossip. Speaking of which, they’re here…together—they’re back together! Oh God, wait ’til I tell Pip! “Hey, Alex. It’s so great to meet you.”

Mark sat down and Alex waved from the end of the booth. “Hi! This is amazing. I finally get to meet Ben, and now you, too. I’m so happy to have friends in this crazy city.”

Ben held the sandwich box and shifted along the seat, nudging his bike helmet and messenger bag with his hip, making room for Riley to scoot in.

Alex Sinclair wants to be friends! “Oh, you’re moving here?” Riley’s eyes lit up and roamed the table—no food, just drinks. Ben was following donor pre-surgery protocol and was sipping ice water, not alcohol.

Mark nudged up the peak of his cap. “New York’s great, but no, London’s home, eh, Mouse?”

Mouse? Mark calls her Mouse. Okay, I’m dying.

“My play is transferring from London, so I’ve been here working with the producers.” Alex toyed with the straw in her soda. “We’re flying home tomorrow, but I’ll be back for casting in April.”

“And opening night in May.” Mark sipped his beer. “Can’t wait for that! Thirteen is a great production. I’m proud of my girl.”